


lay me gently in the cold dark earth

by spiralingcosmos



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but like it's not super graphic or anything it's just there, it's also kind of like the driving theme but not graphic, this song is called 'projecting onto crowley'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-26 22:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralingcosmos/pseuds/spiralingcosmos
Summary: my babe would never fret noneabout what my hands and my body doneif the lord don't forgive mei'll still have my baby and my babe would have mewhen i was kissing on my babyand she put her love down soft and sweetin the low lamp light i was freeheaven and hell were words to me//work song, hozierAnthony Crowley has a near-death experience, and now he can't stop thinking about what comes next. Luckily, he has someone there to comfort him as he works through the aftermath and sorts out his own feelings about religion, death, and the afterlife.





	1. a prologue of sorts

**Author's Note:**

> basically death scares me, religion has more or less failed me, and i'm going to hell LMAO! anyways this is just me of projecting have fun. also note i'm american and have no fuckin clue how healthcare works in the uk so like, if this seems weird or overexaggerated its just american p much. also this is the first thing i've ever published so like. be nice to me

In the weeks following the accident, Anthony jokingly began referring to it as the Fall, capitals always implied, and he found it enormously funny in a way that only allowed him to cope with it. Ezra found it markedly less humorous, but little could be said for his sense of humor in the first place. 

"Y'see, it's like the angels that fell from heaven, right, only it's me and I fell off the roof!" Anthony had laughed from his hospital bed, still a bit loopy after a surgery.

Ezra, who had spent the night in the chair in the room, sighed stiffly. "Yes, I know. I got it the first seventeen times you said it."

What had happened was Anthony was invited to a party with some friends from work. They'd all been fired a few weeks before, and Anthony should've known better but it had seemed_so fun_. A rooftop party with former coworkers, lots of alcohol, and a bit of pent of anger? What could possibly go wrong?

As it turns out, quite a lot.

The cops turned up after about two hours to shut it down. Being that it was a rooftop party, not much could be done by way of escape. A couple of people lived in the flats immediately below and jumped neatly onto the balconies with their friends in tow. Some people made a break for the stairs. Anthony, rather drunk and extremely disoriented, made a decision to go with the former and missed. Badly. Instead of landing on a balcony, slightly shaken up but otherwise okay, he plummeted straight to the ground. He broke his left leg, his left arm, fractured his right wrist, and crushed several ribs, one of which nearly punctured his lung. He could've died, the doctors said, and he was lucky.

Well, whatever lucky felt like, Anthony was pretty damn sure it didn't feel like _this_.

First, he ran out of sick days. Then he lost his job, and therefore his source of pay. Being confined to the hospital, it wasn't as though there was much he could do for his former boss, who seemed to fire whoever she wanted willy-nilly. The office manager, Gabriel, was the prick who'd ratted out Hastur, Ligur, and all them in the first place, and while Michael wasn't exactly doing any harm, she hadn't been doing anyone any favours. The bills went up and up as he waited for discharge. After about a month of what basically amounted to solitary confinement, Anthony got a visitor. Ezra Fell, a well-meaning guy from HR or something, came by. He brought a card. Anthony and Ezra had rarely spoken until then, but Anthony knew enough about the other to say he was a proper weirdo.

"Well, if it isn't an angel," Anthony chuckled darkly. In his head, he'd constructed an elaborate analogy for his misfortune, most relating him and his other fired former coworkers as demons and the people still working their jobs as angels.

"Sorry?"

"It's nothing, really. Just a little inside joke with... myself, I guess."

"I see," Ezra hummed, setting the card on the bedside table. "Well, I thought I'd check in, see how you were, all that. Um, sorry to disturb you at all."

"No!" Anthony exclaimed far too quickly. "No, I. I want you to, uh. Well. Haven't had a single visitor, it kinda got lonely."

Ezra looked taken aback by the notion that no one had visited. "What about your parents? Your friends?"

"Haven't got many friends, honestly. And my parents are, we'll say, a bit of a touchy subject. Falling out and all."

"Ah. I see. Apologies." A beat.

Anthony smiled. Ezra smiled back. And Anthony never spent another day without someone by his side to keep him company.

###### 

"Is this really your flat, Anthony?"

Anthony looked around the room. The sparse, plain furniture was coated in a layer of dust and paint on the walls was peeling more than usual. Even the houseplants, usually bright and luxurious, were wilting.

"Yeah. Got cut off, don't have much."

His mind wandered to the vintage Bentley parked outside. It was a black 1926 racing model, and it was a thing of art. It was also the most expensive thing Anthony owned, and he had bought it with his own money just before he went to college- that is to say, exactly two years before his parents abandoned him. It also had a handy little tape-player rigged up, but all it would play was the Best of Queen tape that had gotten jammed in there about five years ago. 

"Are you religious?" Ezra's voice floated from around the corner. Leaning heavily on the crutch he had supporting himself on one side, Anthony limped around the corner to see the other man standing in front of the bookcase holding a Holy Bible. Anthony had gotten it years ago, and couldn't bring himself to get rid of it.

"Ngh," he replied flatly. "Religion's not been all that fun for me. Easier to forget about it, y'know."

"I understand what you mean," Ezra murmured.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Fortunately, I was able to find a new congregation that helped me reconcile myself with these things."

"Lucky you," Anthony muttered, and promptly shut up.

A bit later, the whistle of a kettle boiling filled the air, and Ezra brought two mugs of tea over to the threadbare couch where Anthony was sitting. He shifted, the bandages on his ribs digging into his skin. After a minute, the telly was on and playing reruns of Golden Girls, which was Anthony's favorite show. Not that Anthony was paying all that much attention at the moment. The night dragged on, and at about seven, Ezra offered to make dinner.

"'S fine, angel. I'll just call for takeaway. Thai sound good to you?"

At about eight, they were both extremely tipsy.

At about nine, Anthony suddenly wanted to be sober as soon as possible and Ezra realized he'd need to get home in order to get to work the next morning.

At ten on the dot, Ezra got in a cab and left.

And just like that, Anthony Crowley was alone again, surrounded by already-fading memories that smelled an awful lot like cheap Thai and wine.


	2. they really like takeout and other similar shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a lot longer and a lot angstier but I'm feeling super sad as it is so I gave it a much better ending. Another chapter will hopefully be up soon!!!

It seemed unnecessarily cruel that the nightmares started once he'd returned home, especially now that he was alone. It had started out an innocuous enough dream, but Anthony was smart enough to know something was wrong. He was back on the rooftop, a bottle of shitty beer in one hand. Anthony didn't even like beer all that much; he preferred wine or really any sort of sweeter drink. The night played out just as it had, only when the police came, there was no distraction. It was just him on the roof, hazy and confused, inching closer and closer to the edge of the roof, and as he teetered precariously there, he looked down.

Anthony saw no balcony, no cheering ex-coworkers, nothing but the ground, much farther away than it was before. An officer came closer, gun drawn. _Why is his gun out?_ Anthony wondered vaguely before the copper opened fire, and he lost his balance, plummeting to the ground. It got closer and closer and the top of the building receded rapidly, and then suddenly he was facing the approaching concrete below him and-

He was awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, and he was afraid. Breathing heavily and feeling the light sheen of a cold sweat on his skin, Anthony tried to assess what had just happened. It was just a dream, not a big deal- except it was. The clock read 4:37 am. With a shaky hand, he reached for his phone, and immediately pulled up Ezra’s number.

_i had a nightmare. come back please?_

Anthony looked at the message, deleted it, and laid wide awake in bed for the rest of the night.

###### 

The days ticked by. Anthony didn’t have a job, he was falling behind on his rent, and he was all alone. He’d barely slept in two weeks, as each time he closed his eyes, the scene would flash behind them again, somehow inevitably worse than the last time. Sometimes, he would pick up his phone to text Ezra, and then remind himself that the other man would be busy at work. He wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to text him, anyways; he barely knew the guy as it was. Still, misery loves company. His phone dinged.

_Hello, Anthony. Would you mind if I stopped by in an hour or so? I just want to check in._

_sure thats fine _

_see u then_

Anthony wanted to clean the flat a bit before Ezra got there, but it’s hard to navigate when you’re heavily bandaged and leaning on a crutch. On top of that, the lack of sleep was really weighing on him, and he hadn’t been eating much lately. It was enough of an effort to comb his dark hair and put on clean-ish clothes, much less make the bed or pick up the floor. He made an effort anyways, but only so much could be done.

The doorbell rang.

“Come in!” Anthony yelled from the kitchen, where he was clumsily attempting to put the dirty dishes scattered on the counter into the sink. It wasn’t much, but it was still a hassle.

“I hope you don’t mind my intruding on you like this, but I really couldn’t stand to stay away seeing as how hurt you are, and it’s been two weeks already- are you alright, my dear?”

Anthony froze. Ezra, who was already bustling about the kitchen, opening pantries, closing cabinets, finding silverware and making plates of Chinese takeout, stopped short.

“I’m sorry, did I say something? I’m terribly sorry if I did, distracted and all, you know,” Ezra fumbled nervously. He set down a plate of noodles and some sort of meat as if he was afraid he’d drop it, and looked at Anthony.

“‘S fine,” Anthony muttered. “You brought food?”

Ezra brightened visibly and finished setting some table places, but Anthony was distracted. _Couldn’t stand to stay away… my dear…_ He shook his head as if to clear the thoughts.

Over their takeout meal, Ezra interrogated Anthony in that friendly way people sometimes do in order to mask the fact that they want answers out of you, but Anthony was all too familiar with that. He’d lost friends and family last time he’d fallen for that trick, and he wasn’t doing it again.

“You look tired,” Ezra commented.

“Yeah.”

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“Nn.”

“You almost look thinner than the last time I saw you.”

“Huh.”

“Have you been eating well?”

“Eh.”

And so it went. Eventually Ezra seemed content enough to answer whatever questions that Anthony had for him, such as how he was working from home now, and that he actually ran a small bookshop just a little ways from here, and he was actually quite into Oscar Wilde. Anthony was rather certain that he could listen to Ezra ramble on all day, if he was allowed that kind of time.

Ezra helped Anthony to the couch afterwards, and turned on the TV.

“Nothing much on, is there?” he remarked.

“Golden Girls is. That’s my favorite,” Anthony admitted.

While Anthony watched old reruns of Golden Girls, Ezra set out to clean the flat. Anthony half-watched as Ezra dusted, washed the dishes, and generally polished the place. 

Anthony was growing rather bored with Golden Girls and was itching for some conversation. Besides, he had a great new nickname, something to rival that ever-so-casual ‘my dear’ Ezra had dropped earlier. 

“D’you like cleaning, angel?”

Ezra stopped. “Angel?” he asked, sounding slightly amused.

“Well, yeah, I mean, erm.” Anthony fumbled for an excuse. “The, ah, analogy I made when we met. About me Falling. Like the demons. And you’re still an angel cause, uh. Yeah.”

“Very clever, my dear,” Ezra murmured, eyes sparkling with just a hint of mischief. Anthony almost screamed. For someone who just compared himself to a demon, he wasn’t very intimidating. Instead, he was already facing the unfortunate reality of falling in love with one of your friends.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley under his breath.

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothin’. Come watch Golden Girls with me.”

Ezra sat down neatly on the couch next to Anthony, who tried to subtly scooch closer. It wasn't nearly as subtle as he'd hoped, but Ezra thankfully seemed to either not notice or was very graciously pretending not to have. The television faded into background noise after a while, and Anthony gradually felt himself falling asleep. Before he even realized what he was doing, his head was on Ezra's shoulder.

Anthony fell asleep like that, and for the first time in two weeks, he didn't have a single nightmare.


	3. repressing your feelings is fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tip: do not try repressing your feelings at home.
> 
> Hey what's crackalackin' here's another chapter! If I'm yearning Crowley's yearning to so enjoy that. It's not terribly long or anything, tomorrow I'm hoping to post another chapter with more angst. I might get power knocked out by the hurricane, but if not, I expect to put up another chapter tomorrow and Monday!

"So have you started looking for a job?" Ezra asked one night over wine and sandwiches.

"Found one, actually."

"When do you start?"

"Two days. Monday."

"Where are you working?"

"Guess. Recruited by the devil himself."

"Ah. Lucien's business?"

"The one and only."

"Oh. So we're, ah, on opposite sides then? I mean, in terms of business."

"Yeah. S'pose so. They're certainly not keen on me keepin' in touch with the _enemy_," Anthony muttered, gripping his wine glass tightly.

Ezra looked into his own glass, and Anthony thought he detected a hint of sadness in the other man's face. He longed to reach over and comfort him, to do something that would say that he didn't intend to cut off contact, he didn't _want_ to do that, that this was his only option in terms of money. He wanted to lean over and-

"I expect you should be going, then," Ezra said abruptly, mercifully breaking off Anthony's train of thought before it could get any farther.

"Ng. 'Spect so," he said as he stood to leave, and then stopped. "Why? "'S only just after nine, work doesn't start 'til Monday."

"I've got to get up early. I go to church on Sundays, and it's a bit of a ways from Soho, I'm afraid."

The word 'church' hit Anthony in the face like a wrecking ball. He almost physically staggered backwards at hearing it. Of course. Of _course_ he was religious. They always were, weren't they? Religious. Church. Maybe it was better if they weren't friends, because Anthony was fighting the urge to shut down completely.

"You could come if you wanted, dear boy. I'd be happy to bring you, or you could drive if you wanted. I know you love that car-"

"No!" Anthony yelped, taken aback by the 'dear boy' and the implication that he would want to go to church- church!- of all places. 

"I mean," Anthony said, more calmly, "No thanks. I'm not exactly... religious. Thanks anyways."

He stood and set down his wine glass. _I should really get a cab,_ he thought vaguely. Upon exiting the bookshop, and taking a minute, he realized he was much drunker than he previously thought, and that maybe driving was a bad idea right now. 

He started the car anyways.

He pulled forwards just a little, so the other man wouldn't be able to see the Bentley from inside, and desperately reached for the bottle of water across in the backseat. He drank it quickly, hoping it would sober him up a bit, as Freddie Mercury crooned the opening lines of some song or another at him from the tape player hooked up to the dashboard. His heart was pounding, and he fumbled for the hair tie on his wrist so he could pull his longish hair away from his face. He couldn't see properly, and panic began to seize him for reasons he didn't entirely understand. The words 'find me somebody to love' hit him then, and just as he realized the what song it was, the Bentley turned off. The fuel gauge was on empty.

"Shit! Shit shit shit shit _shit_!" Anthony slammed his fist against the steering wheel and got out of the car. He went around back to check if there was any gas in the boot. There wasn't. And unless he wanted to sleep in his now-illegally parked car, he was going to have to go back to Ezra's. Or he could just call a cab. He'd need to call a tow company first, though, so he could get the Bentley home.

As soon as he had finished with the tow company, his phone died. Calling a cab was out of the question now, and he'd been kicked out of the bookshop once already. He'd just walk home, he decided, get some exercise. His head swam with frustration and alcohol. This would be fine. He had to wait for the tow company, now, as they wouldn't be here for a bit and he couldn't very well just leave the Bentley behind, could he? He sat in the car with the door open, fidgeting with a tear in his jeans. He chewed on a strand of dark hair. He did anything he could to keep himself busy and his mind sufficiently distracted, because every time his mind wandered, he thought immediately of Ezra.

The way he moved, the way the light hit his hair, the way his eyes shone when he talked about his books, his fashion sense of a century ago. Sometimes he would think about those perfectly manicured hands holding his, with their ragged-from-being-chewed, sloppily painted black nails and rough palms. That was as far as he would allow himself to take it- hand-holding, occasionally light cuddling, but he was afraid of what the implications of acting on his feelings would bring and therefore did not mention them. Especially with this whole church thing.

The tow company arrived to find Anthony pacing around the Bentley, and picked up his car to take to the specified address. Anthony set out for home, as it was getting late and it was definitely going to be a bit of a walk. But before he got too far, he got distracted again. The remedy to these problems were, as he usually found, alcohol. The wine from earlier was wearing off and he could definitely use a drink. There was a bar he rather liked not too far from here, where the alcohol was pretty decent, the prices were fairly low, and not too many people frequented. The perfect place to get wasted. It wasn't too far from his flat, either, so he'd be able to get home easily once he was sufficiently drunk. Then he'd be busy with preparing for work the next day, and he wouldn't have time to worry about confusing feelings! A perfect plan.

"'Ey, Crowley, what can I get ya?" asked the bartender when Anthony entered.

"Something strong," he replied, and sat down heavily at the bar stool. "Something really strong."


	4. confusing sleepovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super tired but I'm trying to crank out a chapter a day while I can. All of you had better appreciate me.

Ezra had never been in a dream before now. It was always just Anthony, being hounded by officers until he woke up during the freefall, just before he hit the ground. Tonight, though, he'd seen Ezra as he was falling. He was standing on a balcony, watching the descent of the dark-haired man.

"Help! Help me!" Anthony screamed, but the wind carried his words away, and for the first time he finished his fall, landing with an earsplitting _crack_. The light faded into darkness, which gave into a dull throbbing at the back of his head as he woke up.

As he tried to piece together his surroundings, Anthony realized two things: one, that he was lying on the floor, tangled in soft white sheets, and two, that this was not his floor and these were not his sheets. He struggled to his feet, tripping himself up several times in the process, and tried to get an idea of where he was. He was still in his clothes from before- or at least part of his clothes, as he realized now that this was not his shirt. It was a sweater that was much too big for him, and it was worn out in a way that suggested that it had washed a thousand times. He tugged it over his head, casting a glance around the room for the plain black t-shirt he'd been wearing. It was only then he noticed the bandages on his arms.

"...the hell?" Anthony muttered under his breath, looking at the band-aids plastered up and down his arms and the fresh wraps around his ribs. He was quite sure he hadn't done this himself. Which brought him again to the question: where _was_ he?

He finally spotted his shirt folded up neatly on a dresser. As he stumbled across the room, trying to think but constantly running into mental walls on account of he was still a little drunk, the door creaked open, and yellow light spilled across the floor.

"Anthony? I heard some yelling and a thud, are you alright?" came a familiar disembodied voice from beyond the dim light.

"Uh. Mm. Who'ss 'ere?" Anthony mumbled, still clutching the folded shirt in his hands.

"It's me, my dear. Ezra," replied the faceless voice.

"Wha- where'm I?"

"I think you'd best go back to sleep, dear, you had an exciting evening and it's really rather early-"

"Well, wha' time's it?" Anthony interrupted.

"Six in the morning. Anthony, please go back to sleep-"

"Why're you up?"

"Church, I told you I had to go last night. I really expected you to stay asleep longer, but I shouldn't leave if you're awake now," Ezra fretted, coming into the room. 

Anthony fumbled with the shirt, trying to pull it on, but it was too late. Ezra had seen him.

"Sssorry, not quite- not dressed, yet-"

"It's fine, my dear. You did show up here absolutely wasted at four-thirty in the morning all bloodied up. Kept mumbling about the Bentley and a tow company, or something. Are you quite sure you're alright? I thought you'd gone home," Ezra said unaffectedly, picking the sweater up off the ground and folding it.

Anthony thought about the clean bandages on his ribs and arms, and the pieces finally clicked in his hungover brain. "Oh- you- you did the- the, the, the wossits. The band-aids."

"Yes, I did. You were all scratched up; did you get into a fight?"

Had he? He racked his brain but the last thing he remembered properly was the bar, where he got pissed out of his mind on cheap alcohol and then he... got shouted at by someone else... and then picked a fight and then... he'd, um...

"Yeah, er, I went to a bar and got inna argument with this other bloke. Don't remember why."

That was a lie. Unintentional, but a lie nonetheless. As soon as the words left his mouth, he remembered exactly why he got into a fight: the man had recognized him from when he didn't live in London, was an old family friend, and well. When you don't keep the family, you hardly keep the friends, do you? The man had said some things, Anthony had said some things, the man had thrown a punch, Anthony had thrown a punch. On and on it went until the bartender broke them up and put Anthony in a cab that had dropped him off... at Ezra's.

"Well, I don't suppose you'd like to explain why you went to the bar?"

"Nah. Still goin' to church?"

"Only if you'll join me."

"Nah."

"Then no. Please go back to bed and we can talk _later_," Ezra said sternly. He turned, closed the door, and Anthony climbed back into bed without really thinking about it.

###### 

The clock ticked quietly in the kitchen of Ezra's flat. Anthony had learned that the room he had woken up in was a part of a small flat above the bookshop, consisting of a kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Ezra said he'd slept downstairs in the back room the night before, but Anthony wasn't sure he had slept at all.

"How many sugars do you take in your tea, my dear?" Ezra asked from the stove where two steaming mugs of tea sat.

"Three," Anthony replied. "Like it sweet."

The extra little bit of intoxication had worn off, leaving him with an awful headache and a sensitivity to light, sound, and people. Water would've been a better bet for him right now, but he'd waved off Ezra's concerns with an insistence on caffeine. Ezra apparently didn't like or drink coffee, so Anthony would take what he could get.

"So, Anthony. Tell about yourself. We've known each other for a couple of months now, and I still know next to nothing about you," Ezra said, setting a mug in front of Anthony as he sat down.

"Eh. Rather not. Don't like talking about myself, to be honest. Not a fan."

"Would it help if I told you more about myself?"

Anthony thought it over. On one hand, he'd get to know more about this veritable angel of a human, and make sure he wasn't falling for an idea, a concept, an aestheticized version of the real thing. On the other, he'd have to talk about his own life story, something he wasn't too keen on doing, and probably some other stuff besides. He took a sip of his tea. "Shit!"

"It's still hot, you know," Ezra said not unkindly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Talk if you want, I'll listen. Still got this-" here Anthony gestured vaguely in the direction of his head- "going on."

"Alright then. So, I suppose the beginning is a good start, always is," Ezra started.

"No! Nope, stop. Please just tell me important things. Do not want to hear your whole life story."

"Oh, alright then." He leaned back in his chair. What's something important..?"


End file.
